


An Opera in Four Acts

by Re_repeat



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Re_repeat/pseuds/Re_repeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire accompanies Courfeyrac and Carl un Chien to a night at the opera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acaramelmacchiato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaramelmacchiato/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Night at the Opera](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/31165) by nisiedrawsstuff. 



"Hush, you must be quiet," Grantaire whispered into Courfeyrac's ear as he groped at his trousers.

Courfeyrac grinned, arching up slightly. "No one shall be able to hear me over the wailing of William Tell."

Grantaire smiled deviously, nipping at the sensitive spot underneath Courfeyrac’s ear. “I should hope, though I’m sure the sounds you make shall be more lovely than Tell’s angst over Switzerland.”

“I believe it is ennui,” Courfeyrac responded.

Grantaire started to undo the trouser flap of Courfeyrac’s fine dress pants. “And what is the difference between the two?” Grantaire asked, wrapping his hand around Courfeyrac’s cock. “For is there not angst in ennui? The idea that someone could find something boring is the biggest cause for angst in life.” Grantaire continued to pump his hand and clasped Courfeyrac’s chin in between his fingers, turning it toward the stage. “Even if I am not in the business of revolution, even at my most nihilistic times, I find that there is very little to be bored with. I can always find someone to share my bed with.” At this Grantaire changed his grip, moving his hand a little faster.

Carl un chien sat quietly beside his owner, focusing intently on Arnold’s confession of love for Mathilde instead of the strange noises his pet was making. Carl sneezed, knocking his opera glasses off of his regal snout. He looked up at his charge and saw that his head was thrown back, his hips arched, and more importantly was not looking at him. He considered pawing at the Monsieur’s trouser leg but it would require moving from the plush footstool that he had brought so Carl could enjoy the opera.

Carl’s sensitive hearing in this case was a blessing and a curse. He might not be able to see more than monochromatic blurs on the stage, but he was able to hear them. Unfortunately he is also able to hear the one with the strange lilt to his voice. It also seems to reach a pitch that is particularly obnoxious to Carl’s ears.

Carl would make sure to do his business on the man’s leg the next time his pet invited this unsuitable companion.


	2. Act II

Courfeyrac took a swig of wine directly from the bottle. The usher had seemed to be more in a twist about letting him bring the wine in than the dog, but money and his name had fixed both of those problems. “Wine my friend?” He asked, holding the bottle back behind his shoulder.

Courfeyrac could feel Grantaire’s hardness against his thigh and laughed when he pressed down and the wine dribbled down Grantaire’s chin. “You do not play fairly, Monsieur,” he grunted.

“The Austrians did not, why should I?”

“You would spoil the entire libretto just to make a bad joke?”

“It’s history,” Courfeyrac responded as he ground down again. He took the bottle away from Grantaire and set it down on the floor before kissing him lightly. “Qu’entends-je? ô crime! I shall take my revenge in the second act for what you did in the first.”

Grantaire gasped and grabbed at Courfeyrac’s leg. “You speak as if it is something to be vengeful over.”

“Hush and watch,” Courfeyrac responded.

Carl took the opportunity to knock over the wine bottle. His companions did not notice, and he lapped at it carefully. The wine was too sweet. He huffed in indignation and turned back to the stage. His companion was missing all of the undertones of revolution that he so dearly loved instead paying far more attention to asserting his dominance over the odd smelling man.

Carl huffed again. If these heathens would choose to ignore the production why not carry these pursuits out at home. He could only assume his owner was taking pity on him, for which he was ever grateful. If he had to listen to the odious man make such foul noises he should at least be able to listen to the smooth tenor of Arnold as he made his vows.

It reminded him of his pet’s companion with the long golden tail that sprouted from his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on tumblr! re-sassafrass.tumblr.com


	3. Act III

“Ah, and now we see Tell has taken a second arrow as well. I wonder, does he plan on shooting at the apple again if he misses it?”

“No, he shall use it to try and assassinate Gesler,” Grantaire replied. “This part is boring, wake me when everyone dies.”

“And how do you know everyone will die?”

“It is an opera.”

“How clever of you,” Courfeyrac replied. He ran his fingers up the seam of Grantaire’s pants, only for Grantaire to swat him away. “What is the matter?”

“You broke me apart in Act II, and I’m an old man compared to you. I don't have that sort of vigor.” Courfeyrac scoffed at him, and he continued, “We have drunk wine and partook in our own performance; we were Achilles and Patrocles. A performance that even Christopher Marlowe—or the great Shakespeare himself—would have admired.”

“Not all of them,” Courfeyrac replied. He grabbed the wine bottle by his feet and tongued it suggestively.

Grantaire snorted. “You are asking me to do that to you, for I do not stir so quickly.”

Courfeyrac shrugged, “We are friends. Friends help each other.”

Grantaire had to bite back a laugh but he did find the idea of taking Courfeyrac apart again quite intriguing. Perhaps he could benefit in Act IV as well. He got up from his chair and kissed Courfeyrac lightly before undoing his pants. “Sois immobile,” he whispered, before getting down on his knees.

Carl at least had his dignity. The human was on his knees, and he knew from his own nature that it was a position of begging. Carl would not even sit on command when his companion asked him to. Tell did not bow down to Gesler, much as Carl did not beg for anyone.

Though he was concerned for Courfeyrac. The begging of the smelly manned seemed to have rendered him completely still, accept for the shallow breathing and close to pained expression on his face. He had once heard the poet with the wretched cat say that pain and pleasure were similar, but he had to resist the urge to bite the smelly man. He had seen the same act done many a time in his companion’s quarters and knew that his friend always seemed much happier afterwards.

Besides, he was much more concerned for if Tell would make the shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Max (punforrestpun.tumblr.com or Mad_Max on here) for betaing this.


	4. Act IV

Grantaire set his opera viewing glasses aside, reaching over to nimbly grasp Courfeyrac’s pair out of his hands as well. “What is the meaning of this? This is the part where all of the political undertones become less covert.”

“We have interrupted every act. I believe this was your plan all along.” Grantaire ran a hand along Courfeyrac’s collarbone, the other man having left his shirt unbuttoned after act III. At the same time he reached into the inside pocket of Courfeyrac’s coat, pulling out a small vial. “As I suspected. There was a plan for this evening that did not involve the opera.”

Courfeyrac shrugged, smirking at Grantaire. “Perhaps I did. You haven’t objected yet.”

“I imagine that is only because you knew I would not object to the setting, considering Bahorel would not agree. He insists there is part of his ear missing.”

“That is the way we played, he was giving as good as he got.” Courfeyrac played with Grantaire’s hair. “I am sure I could have gotten Prouvaire to agree to my own inclinations.”

“He only enjoys hymns and the chanting of monks,” Grantaire replied. He unbuttoned Courfeyrac’s trousers for the third time that night. Uncorking the vial he poured the oil on his fingers, slicking them and tossing the empty vial aside.

“Are you implying that you have defiled our young poet in a church?”

“I am implying,” Grantaire responded, slipping a finger into Courfeyrac. “That the man does not appreciate opera.” Courfeyrac’s laughed turned into a groan as Grantaire started to move his hand. “At least not as much as you do.”

“The music moves me.”

Carl un Chein looked at the stage unhappily. This would be a poignant moment, perhaps, if he were not focusing on his hope for vengeance. This was supposed to be a lovely night. He always enjoyed his nights in the private booth, analyzing the libretto for when that cat came around.

His night had been ruined though, by the smelly man who currently was exposing his posterior to Carl as he rutted against Carl’s dear companion. Carl had witnessed this act of coitus many a time, it was the only pitfall of taking care of Monsieur.

Carl would not stand for this again. He hopped down from his perch and nosed at the pant leg, until there was exposed skin. He bit down soundly, the smelly man grunting and jerking to a halt.

Grantaire looked down at the tiny runt, his fingers digging into Courfeyrac’s hip. “Your dog is biting me,” he gritted out.

“Did you spend before or because of that?”

“Get. Him. Off.”

Courfeyrac disentangled himself from Grantaire and stooped down, prying Carl’s jaws open. He scooped his dog up, holding him close. He sat down in his chair cradling Carl closer to him. “That was not very nice, Monsieur Chein.”

Grantaire scowled, slumping down to examine his ankle. “He didn’t even break the skin.”

“And thus you escaped more intact then the evening I had with Bahorel. Congratulations.”

Grantaire sulked and decided that it would be best to just watch the rest of the opera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come visit me at marshmallowbrigade.tumblr.com to drop a line. Thanks to obstinatecurator @tumblr and citoyenprouvaire @tumblr for reading through it.  
> Also thank you to Nisie for the inspirational art work.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on tumblr: sideflow.tumblr.com


End file.
